By the Numbers 13:32-33
by DenimPants
Summary: They said, "The land we explored devours those living in it. All the people we saw there are of great size. We saw the Nephilim there... We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them." -Numbers 13:32-33 Set in the world of the Nephilim. A short story for each Horseman before they took on their reigns.
1. There also we saw the Nephilim

**There also we saw the Nephilim...**

**Absalom** was the first of them to breathe with life: a creature shaped from the darkness and the dust of angels and demons. His first cry was not of a mewling newborn, but of a fully hardened warrior—a battle roar that cowered and repulsed. He was created to be perfect by the mother of all Nephilim such that he would forever be their pioneer. Big, brutal, confident, he was to be their leader till eternity.

From that same generation of the Firstborn, Lilith created another: and she named him **Decimace**. Born from that same breath of darkness and dust that brought the worlds the leader- he too was destined to be among their greatest general. Where Absolom came, Decimace closely followed. Unlike his forbearer, Decimace was deeply affected by consequence, and when it was time, he crawled from his birthplace with a growl that was dark and inviting.

The generation that followed the Firstborn were known simply as the Second. Copied from the greatest that came before them, Lilith dabbled with the females and produced the grey sisters. The only among the Nephilim capable of creating others. Impatient by blood, they brewed and toiled to replicate their mother's actions. Forced to make life when their nature only wished them to bring destruction.

From their hands came the vastly diverse generation, coined the Trinary. The final part of the Foundation that paved the future of the Nephilim race. Filled with the same warrior hearts and bloodthirsty lust as the Firstborn, the Trinary showed enough aptitude to maintain civil society, learn from their elders and teach to those that followed them. From this generation came the twins in battle: **Visiden**, one of very few Trinary males to be ranked among the Firstborn, and **Aldenmyre**, a battle princess who refused to be captive.

After the Firstborn, the Second, and the Trinary, the generations were not named. If they weren't born in honour, then they deserved no recognition. And once they had been perfected and their society set away, they crafted more of themselves, multiplied by the hands of the Foundation; copied, honed, disposable.

As the demons had hoped, within a hundred years, they had developed an army filled with a legion of self replicating warriors—And with them, the demons outcry for anarchy seared through the worlds of the Makers. When the kingdom of Hell could brook no more destruction, the second kingdom turned their attention to the Kingdom of Heaven. And in a renewed effort to overthrow the balance lain out by the powers above, the demon lords demanded a new brood of Nephilim be produced before they called hell's trumpet upon the angels.

From that swell of Nephilim neophytes which led to war, **Bateel** was bred. And he fought; and his life was forever fighting.

And this… was to be their legacy till their end.

* * *

AN: Here is an experiment in Fan Fiction. As each game comes out (Asuming they are still going to finish the stories now that THQ killed Vigil) and we are introduced to each new charachter, I will write a short story or clip of their life before they became the Horsemen, from the time when War, Death, Strife and Fury were living in what surmounts to Nephilim society. And so far I am trying to focus each short story as their inspiration or motiviation for becoming the harbingers of their own species destruction.

_They said, "The land we explored devours those living in it. All the people we saw there are of great size. We saw the Nephilim there... We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them." -Numbers 13:32-33_


	2. It Led to War- Mark 13:7-8

**It led to War**

___"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth.  
I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." __-Matthew 10:34_

Since before the battles of the kingdoms had reached their dawn, Bateel was already well known. As the captain of a legion of dedicated warriors, this Nephilim had every reason to be proud. But pride was not a trait often found in the skirmish leaders. Their duty was to go, destroy, devour, raze and return. This was a duty Bateel fulfilled with the utmost devotion and impeccable skill.

From the moment he rose from the ashes of his birth, he followed orders obediently. His relentless attacks and his uncompromising acceptance of his place in this society had earned him favor among the Firstborn at one time. Honestly, who wouldn't value the embodiment of war in a time when war was praised?

He made no fuss when demons who claimed his parenthood ordered their children to ignite the already swelling powder-keg between Heaven and Hell. He made no complaints knowing that the actions he and his brothers took that day would flood the kingdoms with a war like neither worlds had ever faced before. So imagine his disgust when those demons rewarded the legion's only returning survivor with a demotion and desolation.

Bateel had done his duty as leader of thousands with precision and skill that no other from his caste had ever seen. He did not perform his duty without fail, only to be haphazardly placed under the command of a Nephilim of lower rank—in a battalion of questionable skills.

In his hot and isolated corner of the disorderly encampment, the silver-haired warrior coddled his sword with whetstone and blood. He stroked the metal destroyer and waited for his current superior to trickle down whatever scraps of information he were to have.

He asked himself, why should he be so unhappy? He was a soldier and he should want not but to obey.

Fledglings stumbled out of the tents where the Grey Sisters did their work. The quality of those who were born would vary depending on which woman shaped them; their worth was dependent on Grey whims. Today they multiplied from the ashes like ants pouring from a mound: all of the newbred were of mediocre quality. Their husks were filled with hollow hate and dumb looks.

Bateel observed this keenly and noted that this legion (like the last legion, and the legion before the last... and every legion he had been placed with between today and the day his company were disposed of) must be expected to perish. They were fodder for the cannons. Even as he moved from company to company, he noticed each batch of ash and dust grow weaker, bloodthirsty and perverted.

He could barely recognize his people anymore.

He could barely identify with his people anymore.

He was alone.

The soldier grit his teeth till the bone moaned and he told himself: "I was not ordered to die. I was only ordered to destroy."

But he knew, this time, like the last time (and every time between then and today) he would return unrewarded and installed in yet another doomed endeavor.

He was not a fool, he knew what the Demons intended of the Nephilim. It was only so obvious that they felt no remorse in sending toys to destroy their enemies while their ranks rested on their laurels. There was no strategy involved and there was no tactics. It was simple and sheer brutality.

Bateel was starting to understand that once the light had been extinguished, the Nephilim would exist no-more.

But he was a good soldier and he marched toward his species' doom because he knew nothing else he would have preferred.

"You have other options." And Bateel turned toward the broodmate unsurprised and unresponsive.

Sephereven was a Nephilim of another sort, her sole duty was to clean the remnants of the worlds of light razed and destroyed by the warriors. Her caste was long-suffering, and her role in life was necessary but undesirable.

She was a light haired maiden of hot green eyes and slender pale skin. Like the others in her caste, she was fragile, but nimble. She was a scavenger by all standards, and the closest thing a Nephilim has to an inventor. From her caste's efforts were salvaged the very blades they wielded, and from their hands came the armor on their backs. They collected the only remnants of every species destroyed by the hands of their soldier brethren and distorted them till they met Nephilim purpose.

Sephereven was the sister who had found him when he first returned a triumphant reject.

"I was molded from the ashes for this," Bateel responded regarding fighting, "Just as yours is to pick clean the bones of all other worlds. I cannot leave my duty as a warrior behind any more than you could leave yours as a collector."

"I do not challenge your way of life, Bateel." She gathered her pack as her party started to mobilize toward the gates that led to the tree of death. "I simply question the authority that directs you."

He knew she believed, as some now do, that the balance of light and dark drove the universe to turn. There was no denying it, Bateel himself could see the proof that one could not exist without the other—however fervently the Demons may deny it.

"There must always be war," she said, "And if the Hell destroys Angels, the war will be between ghosts and demons. Why side with Hell when they want the utter destruction of all life, ours included?"

"They **made** us, Sephereven," The warrior let forth a defensive growl through his general stoic demeanor, "their dust is our _flesh_. That is why we fight for them."

"Yes, but whose ashes run through our _blood_?"

He did not answer her as she walked away.

"I will see you on the battle field, brother. And I will return to camp, anything you may lose."

* * *

_"For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom.  
There will be earthquakes; there will be famines.  
These are but the beginning of the birth pains."_ -Mark 13:8

Bateel marched alone (again) from the twilight. He entered the swirling black gate covered in the blood and ash of dead angels. He expected no-one at the gates for his homecoming. He would report to the Firstborn directly and then await re-location.

So picture the suspicious look on his face when the figure of a Trinary stood silhouetted in the light of the low black sun. The general may have been less influential and very rarely seen in command. But, even from a distance, this was a leader distinguishable above all others.

"To what do I owe such an honor to have the only female brigadier general in all our ranks stoop to meet an unmentionable returning from battle?"

"Should we be too concerned with ourselves that we cannot welcome a hero of war home?" she smiled slyly, "You are the sole survivor of not one, but twenty eight fallen companies. That is a remarkable feat worth our attention."

He did not like what that 'compliment' implied and he growled under his breath. When she baited him with her unpleasant, seductive sneer- Bateel felt a slight apprehension and he let his red eyes shimmer to show his discomfort. In the evening light, his deep set eyes shed a ghostly blue glow. He re-gripped the hilt of his weapon and blood dripped off of each tip to the ashen earth beneath him. His disapproval was apparent, even to one who did not know him.

"What do you want, Aldenmyre?" The battle bred hunched his shoulders, and staved the part of him that wanted to launch his sword in between her breast plates. "Surely you're not here to accuse me of being the only warrior in the eve of our race's end hour worth surviving."

Then his sister in the next generation laughed. She laughed cleanly and with so much happiness that Bateel himself was taken aback. "Oh **he** was _right_ about you. You would be perfect."

There were too many unknowns, so the Nephilim asked no questions.

Aldenmyre was known for her accent to power- and many theorized that it was not entirely of her own making. Bateel was not interested in becoming yet another steppingstone for this woman's private ambitions. He knew better than to be baited. He was a strategist and would settle for nothing less than utter control. "I have heard the announcements of Averice's affiliation with the Nephilim Mother. I assume this means that your affair with that Firstborn has recently ended."

"Your tongue does you little favors," the woman hissed fiercly, her golden eyes narrowed and burned till they were a glow in a hot amber. Oh how the women were fickle! As she fumed, Bateel laugh at the unbridled fury that flowed through her trancelucent skin.

"So the Generals above **do** suffer for their place above the common Nephilim," it was a rare streak of rebellion that kept his tongue unbound. He knew he was baiting a dragon's fury by making fun of Aldenmyre's little embarrassment. But he was not so much a fool to think that what he was suffering was normal or just on behalf of world balance. He was what dwindling few remained of the Nephilim bred back when their race should have been proud.

"Is there a common Nephilim?" Alden said, she glared at him suddenly sober. "Is what we have become even considered Nephilim anymore?"

Bateel's blood turned cold; he had mentioned his distaste with the current status of things to so few people. Though he trusted all of them to keep his secrets, there was always that ghost of a chance that someone would overhear his thoughts and point all sorts of travesties toward him because of it. He had one job, and he did it well; hopefully that was enough.

He was war at its finest. Hopefully that was enough.

"What are you trying to say?"

She looked at him cautiously, measured him up with her calculating eyes, then took a step in. She said: "No one should know the corruption that seeds our ranks more than you, little brother. You have been at the frontlines of our Circle's waste since this war began. I know you remember the time when our family was young, and our ideals stretched to the promise of another world beyond _this_—Beyond the menial scraps of our makers."

"I **still** don't hear an explanation."

"Our race is becoming a cancer among the world, and the head of our Circle are no longer run by sensible Nephilim. They are being manipulated and bribed by the demons or angels or ghosts. Our dreams to one day have a kingdom to call our own is long past—the kingdom of hell cannot grant us this. But there is another way," she leaned forward to press her lips against his skin and whispered, "The higher powers have ignored the council's recommendations and saw the universe fit to birth a new kingdom. The third kingdom; made of water and earth."

"What?" this was news to Bateel, and his voice roared with outrage. "The Charred Council will not be pleased."

"That they are not," She agreed, "And so far they have kept the creation of this kingdom to themselves because of it. But they are willing to negotiate a truce between heaven and hell. And their enforcers of their peace will be rewarded."

Bateel felt his eyes heat up and his fists grow cold, he narrowed his eyes and cautiously said, "The Circle will always side with Hell. And as long as the Nephilim exist, and Angels and Demons die, then Hell will always be at the advantage."

"Which," Alden sang tossing her dark blood wine colored hair from her ashen face, "Is why we need to make sure the Grey make no more."

The silver-haired warrior growled at his 'sister'. "What you are talking about is the end of our race."

"With a few _exceptions_."

"No." Bateel lifted his blade to her and she narrowed her eyes dangerously, "That is treason. That is genocide."

"We are preserving life."

"Not our life."

"You do think about who it is that is sending each battalion through the Tree of Death, don't you? Nephilim like you and I? Demons? the Council? Those on the Circle do not view us as beings, we are machines! The Firstborns will not share their victories with the likes of us. That is if they ever have any victories to claim as their own."

"Do what you want, General. But you will have no help from me." And Bateel peeled himself from her glare and stormed through the ashen desert.

* * *

___"And when you hear of war and rumors of war,  
do not be alarmed.  
Such things need be:  
but the end is not yet." -Mark 13:7_

The more the warrior pondered about it, the hotter the ash in his blood began to burn. Of course Aldenmyre was to be stopped; to speak of the ending a whole race of beings - ending the warriorNephilim race, no less- was preposterous at best. The thousands that made up their number far outweighed the remaining Firstborn, it was in their best interest to preserve the common folk's complacency.

But he also knew that there was the kernel of truth in her venomous ideas. The fact that he had his suspicions and his bitterness only rocked him harder. But he was never meant to question orders. He was just a soldier.

At the very least, he could tell the First discreetly and not make a scene. He resolved to do so after the debriefing.

He hunkered in the shadow of the Circle's Tower as he determined what his next course of action would be. Their only city was a shanty the demons carved of their waste land. Among the ruins that served as their homes stood the Circle's Tower, the only grand establishment in their disgarded corner of Hell. Here came the demons to oversee and instruct their step-children. Here also lived the Firstborn, the Nephilim privelaged by birth- There they ruled, condecention from their pathetic tower- There they decided the fate of the caste Nephilim.

The warrior took those familar back steps that led to the Circle's meeting chamber. The unnamed were not allowed through the Opulent front gates- the caste weren't suppose to be in it. The path led through a labyrinth of stone walls- secret corners for secret rendezvous. Bateel knew the secet turns, he knew the corners of the dark tower's hidden paths- which meant he knew the secrets of the very tower he was banned from.

Perhaps that was why the tower saw fit to share this secret tonight.

"Of course, my son," the warm voice said from a room detached from the Circle hall.

Bateel's gloved hand stayed on its place on the war council's back door. And he leaned toward the room from which that the Nephilim Mother's voice floated. She was speaking to Abadon, the king among them. The very Nephilim he had intended to see in private.

"-And she will be only one of the caste that will be sacrificed."

"I do not care for the life of that scavenger. But Decimace will not forget this insult lightly," the First sounded angry, "Sephereven had a stronger hold on him than he realizes. He will take his anger to the grave."

"I know you love your brother," Lilith said, "But when this is over, you will be the only Nephilim that matters."

"Hmm." Whatever this implied, it quelled the First. Then he said, "To be the first and the last of a legacy." Absolom pondered, "That is a gift that can only be given by the goddess."

"A gift you must first **earn**." Lilith sneered.

And Bateel could hear no more. Absolom was greeted in the summit, the roars of approval rung through the halls. Lilith, the bitch mother, must have disappeared. And when Bateel broke through the symposium, he felt acutely more insulted at the older brothers familiar glare.

The Circle was not complete: the seats of the firstborns who had perished were empty, and a few others were void of their regular occupants. It was not unusual that there be members missing, but Bateel made a mental note that this meeting was more barren than he was used to.

"You again?" Averice sneered, he peered down his long and hooked nose at the small but persistent warrior, "Survived another battle against heaven have you caste?"

"Bateel, reporting sir." It was his duty to them, even if they meant his destruction. He was a soldier, he did what he was supposed to do.

"Ah right, **that** was your name," Averice replied, as if he had forgotten. Snickers among the Firstborn rolled through the symposium, except for Absolom, who just eased himself in his high chair. He was above the likes of that. So far above it. "Well, what surprising news have you to wow us with today?"

The silverhaired creature narrowed his golden eyes dimly and thought of the Grey Sisters, the dying Nephilim, the treasonous general, the villainous king. With so much to tell them, he wasn't sure where to begin.

"Well, spit it out, caste. You are trying to follow up an act of execution—we are itching for something to top off that day."

Then he understood. "Sephereven."

"Oh, was **that** her name," and Averice chortled at being able to use that condescension twice in one conversation. When the laughter rolled off of the Firstborn choir, Bateel felt his fists harden and his jaw clench.

He announced, "The battle was lost. The casualties account for all but myself. I await re-assignment."

"That's all?" smirked the red skinned leader, his eyes glowing a cold yellow, his deep voice baiting.

If there wasn't already one, he would have called out for war. But even then, Bateel knew a second of rebellion would change everything. He thought of the corruption leading them and the perversion that followed them. He opened his mouth to spill the blood of those who have would betrayed them- Then in a singular breath of defiance, he said: "That is all."

* * *

___"And when you hear of war and rumors of war, do not be alarmed. Such things need be: but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes; there will be famines. These are but the beginning of the birth pains." -Mark 13:7-8_

AN: Sigh. Not to the magnitude I was hoping it would be. The visuals are thin, I know, I'm sorry- It will interlock with the other three stories and I aim to be better for the other ones. So some of the plot holes will be filled. I didn't realize how hard it would be to do a whole story in a single chapter. I'm not so good at the short stories I guess. haha. Please don't give up on this- Others will soon follow. Assuming I don't die following my work load.

Also.. I couldn't decide which bible quote I perfered. The one I used seems more potent, but Jesus said it, and I don't mean to imply that War is akin to Christ. He's not, it's not like that at all. It's just a pretty badass quote. And conceptionally, Mark seemed on the money. Sadly, Jesus also said this... and in content it is less aggressive.


End file.
